Death in Velvet Lining
by stakeh
Summary: Doesn't matter now, devils who paint angels. Dark. Naruverse. Multichapter. Uchiha centric. Discontinued.


"_This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing  
__To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;  
__This and more I sat diving, with my head at ease reclining  
__On the cushion's velvet violet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,  
__But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,  
__She shall press, ah, nevermore!" _

_Edgar Allan Poe - The Raven (Stanza 13) _

**Death in Velvet Lining **

Prelude of the Overture – Number One of Thirteen

The rain had always seemed so cliché to him, an obvious setting for a tragic tale. Tragic is what he wove, but this tale didn't begin from the dusty corners of any book one could pick up—it began with far less…grace.

Clouds had clustered overhead, though only of a light gray, and not nearly as foreboding as rain clouds, or even the sun's own personal clouds; those nearly translucent little cotton puffs of white bringing on luscious summer days. It wasn't even summer, nor late October, nor winter. The sky sang an early March afternoon, and even he expected a bit of rain, though it did not seem promising today. Instead, the skies murmured softly to themselves, speaking only of—oh, what was the word for it?—irony.

Ironic. Was that was this day was? He wasn't so sure.

What was ironic, truly? Nothing out of the ordinary, no mishaps placed beneath his stumbling feet as the dark-haloed figure took no notice to an upward-spiraling root in the loose earth, tripping and bracing his arms across his face as though the very air about him stung his pitch, dilated eyes. Gaining an awkward sort of balance, he thrust himself forward once more. A never-ending dance of desperation, it was, wasn't it? And him? Merely a doll.

Ironic, yes, that one such as himself would be caught in such a dilemma. Teetering blindly in—what?—just a forest. Enveloping every which side of him, crushing the bones in his body in a brutal embrace, with teeth of steel. It wasn't just the pain, though that cut him deep inside somewhere reserved, but instead the fact that he was so…so helpless, in this moment. It made him choke and splutter for air with heaving gasps.

Ironic—that is what it was.

Shoving such meaningless thoughts aside with bitter revulsion, the young man clung to his own bleeding wounds and bruises that dotted the bone of both of his arms in an attempt to surcease the stinging, almost numbing, throb they produced. He had become accustomed to such a situation, but now it had only seemed to increase his frustration. Frustration and rage, battling it out behind his sealed eyelids, oblivious to the smiling sun that hung high overhead; oblivious to even the twisting roots that continued to snare his hurried steps. He was running, obviously, but to where had yet to be decided.

It was only at the first sound of a shout did the wave of uncertainty wash over him in an almost repulsive way. Where had he been headed? He wasn't sure. Perhaps a magical, non-existent place to tend to such flesh-wounds? If only there was a place to tend the webs behind his eyes, the constant chaos he faced every waking—and sleeping, for that matter—moment. Eternal hell, in a nutshell. How suiting.

Footsteps—running, running also, nearly as fast a pace as his own. Rendered momentarily blind, he couldn't perceive exactly where the figure was pinpointed, but managed to salvage a general idea. Biting onto the already abused and bloodied and raw flesh of his bottom lip, the dark-haloed young man swung sharply to the left, flinging a hand out ahead of his haphazard body. At the first touch of the bark, he heaved himself up, landing upon the next branch above his head by pure skill alone. From there, he leapt higher and higher, until only the rooftops of the very trees kept him prisoner.

After breaching this, the young man continued onward, swinging his path in a series of crisscrosses that could leave any normal person at an abrupt end of confusion. He only prayed that this was just 'any normal person.'

Unfortunately, the shouts never ceased, and only seemed to gain in volume as Sasuke Uchiha forced his beaten body onward.

Feeling another rush of painful euphoria in the chase, he nearly lost his very footing, tipping dangerously to one side before pausing, gasping sharply, and jumping forward. To gain distance by tree was one thing, but his pursuer could just as easily use this advantage. And who's to say that they weren't already?

He almost wished it were raining. At least then the dirt wouldn't cling to him as badly as it was now, and at least the sun would not be burning the retinas of his pitch eyes as he bravely peeled the eyelids back. His vision slurred in a blur of kaleidoscope colors. The wind blew suddenly into them. Gritting his teeth, Sasuke shut his eyes once more. It was obvious now that this flaw would remain for a bit longer—his very core seemed to swell and blossom with the pain.

And all at once, he lost footing for a second time, sending him sprawling to the forest floor in a heap of his own confusion. Frustration bubbled at the back of his throat in the form of bile, and disgusted, Sasuke spit the burning substance out onto the grass. He couldn't see it, but his own blood splattered the ground as well; a bright reminder of the damage that had been sewn into his body.

What had happened exactly?

Memories were constantly shuffling around in his mind. He couldn't think straight anymore—the thoughts kept switching tracks, jumbling together, crashing and burning. His head reclining forward, Sasuke choked back a sob with whatever dignity and pride he had left within him, laying his fevered forehead against the cool feel of the grass about him. What was this that he felt, now? A sudden calm flushed over him. Was it…could it be…surrender?

To surrender at such a state. Ironic to a point of no return.

No. No a hundredfold, he told himself. He could not surrender now, even as the fire within him shifted ominously with the light wind. Death would not come, if he did not let it. Let Death find another victim this day.

The shouting had gained in volume, reaching the very peaks of fortissimo, and though Sasuke knew there was still distance between his own limp form and the figure, the sound pierced his mind like a dull bullet. It was so familiar. And so…so unbearably filled with rage and anguish Sasuke could hardly stand to hear it himself.

_Have I caused that?_

Though he knew that answer himself, he was void of any regret. It was peculiar feeling, to know something to which you should regret with every fiber in your being, and to merely brush it aside with only a slight notification that it was ever there. An oddly satisfying feeling. Putting an end to all ends, almost.

Sasuke did not want to move. For once in his life, he craved to stay exactly where he had fallen. He did not want to climb back up and taunt the twist of Death once more, or learn the steps of Destruction any longer. He would continue to fight, but…sleep begged, pleaded for his consent. With his bloody elbows digging into the soft earth that pressed into his broken body, the sleep lulled him, mentally and physically. And surely still, the shouting crescendo pivoted towards him, a call of despair, cutting into the folds of his battered heart.

So surreal, so familiar this voice was—

"—_but the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling—"_

—until the entirety of his world rang loud with it. One lonesome call, crashing closer and closer, over all the obstacles in hell. An angry angel infuriated by the reality it faced, of what existence it could have had, or rather, should have had.

Now the lights behind his eyes were merely flickering, like the wings of a million butterflies of the deepest shade of red. Urgent and desperate, they fluttered as blotches of blood on a bleached backdrop. Sasuke couldn't fathom what would become of him now, as his very spirit drifted yards above his grasp, his curling fingers extended towards the heaven. Slipping, slipping… _Have mercy, have mercy…_

"_SASUKE!"_

Shaking leaves overhead. Great gust of wind about the air. Rustling ghosts of the past come out to play.

Towering darkness, helplessness, overcastting his dying body, a tilt in its stature. Fragments of something, of a memory, rushing to him now in these last few moments. Fractures. Fading, then suddenly vibrant and living, a living thing in his mind. Shaking. Shaking like the angel standing over his hellish, drifting physical part. Slipping, slipping… _Have mercy, have mercy, oh please…_

The angel was shaking from left to right as though it was now even helpless in controlling its own self. Swaying, screaming its same scream, that one name that Sasuke couldn't even make out for a name any longer, let alone be able to comprehend it. The angel shaking, shaking above this pitiful little devil, this dying little devil. The picture of it was remarkably clear as opposed to everything else that faintly existed in his vision. Not blurred, this fair-haired creature, as though all that remained to exist to Sasuke now was this last picture. Slowly, Sasuke blinked. His eyes were painfully dry.

'_Doesn't matter now, devils who paint angels.'_

With a powerful uplifting motion, the defeated devil was drug to a limp stand, being supported entirely by this ethereal being.

And then, with another piercing scream, the angel hit this devil, causing him to crumple to the ground, a flame extinguished at last, simply a pile of broken bones and fractured life.

—_nevermore—_

This was a little bit short, but I plan to make the chapters longer come time, hopefully. This was your prologue. Voila. Make any sense? I hope not.

I just need to update something.

_Disclaimer: I do not own Armand from The Vampire Lestat (the quote), nor do I own Edgar Allan Poe's 'The Raven.'_


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